Liam Says Hello
by sherlollymouse
Summary: A random third party request to say 'Hello' to Molly for them turns into a much bigger issue and may be leaving a trail of bodies around London.
1. Chapter 1

The lab at Barts was always quite even when he wasn't there alone. That was one of the reasons Sherlock considered it his second home. There was more to work with here, too, than his small flat on Baker Street could ever possibly dream of offering him, primarily due to space.  
Silently, he and Molly had been working through the night while John had softly snored leaning over a table at the other side of the lab. Honestly, Sherlock was glad he never had to voice his appreciation for Mary's understanding when he monopolized so much of Johns time while on a case. Sometimes, she'd even join them, but not this one. She'd taken a short holiday with a friend somewhere, Sherlock wasn't sure where and didn't dwell on it. Mary had proved herself fully capable of taking care of herself and the child she and John shared.  
Though he had observed Mike Stamford waltz in casually he had to suppress the urge to jump when he began talking. Even though he wasn't very loud, in comparison to the stillness that had lasted the past several hours, his voice positively boomed.  
"Good Morning, Molly, Sherlock…. Should we wake him?" He motioned to the snoozing John.  
"Let him be, I don't need him and he requires quite a surprising amount of sleep." Sherlock droned back his response.  
"Right, well, guess I'll leave you to it, just wanted to stop in and let you know I was here, Molly. You're here awful early."  
"Actually, I'm still here." She threw a slightly bemused grin at Sherlock that contradicted her annoyed tone.  
"Right, I see. Well, anyway, I'll be off." He paused in the doorway. "Oh, yes, I came to tell you I ran into one of your old friends, Molly."  
"Oh, really?" She had joined Sherlock at the table now and was finishing up some notes she was making for him.  
"Yeah, yeah, some bloke. I was asked to let you know Liam says hello." Molly stiffened and looked backed up.  
"Oh." She forced a giggle. "That's nice. Thank you, Mike." Out of the corner of his eye, the detective easily deduced Molly's discomfort, though Mike didn't seem to, he simply carried on and made his exit.  
"Who is Liam?" He asked, still looking at a slide. The woman made no eye contact as she hummed a request to repeat himself. "Obviously he's not someone you thought you'd ever hear from and you don't want to." Abandoning the slide, he turn to face her. "So, who is Liam, Molly Hooper?" It was impressive how stoic her face was, almost unreadable, even to him, as they made eye contact, but when she began opening her mouth to respond, a groan echoed through the lab.  
"Jesus, is it really morning already?" Neither removed their eyes from each other. "Did you really work all night?"  
"Well, it was necessary, John. I believe I cracked the case." Her expression seemed to challenge him and he counted with a more determined focus. After their first couple meetings, he hadn't found it necessary to read her thoroughly very often and very rarely had come up with absolutely nothing. Though most things were trivial beyond her being clever and trustworthy, he hadn't even thought she would ever be trying to hide anything. But, there was always something, he supposed.  
"What are you two doing?" For a brief moment, his eyes darted to his doctor friend. He could read everything on John so easily. It was no real feat, but damn John if he hadn't pulled him off something that appeared seriously more compelling, all he heard of her exit was the lab doors swing closed.  
"Nothing, John, absolutely nothing." Sighing as he eyed the doors Molly Hooper had disappeared through. "Breakfast?" The response was an uncertain head tilt and a slow, cautious affirmative to the taller gentleman, who was already donning his Belstaff.

The pathologist caught her breath and decided to take a shower at work. It had only been one person, she comforted herself. Yeah, but thats how its started last time, right? Just one? Her mind was really messing with her.  
"No!" She said under her breath as determined as her shaky voice would allow. This was what he wanted. Chances were he didn't even know many specifics about her. She'd moved since she had updated anything online. Though, he obviously knew where she worked, he couldn't know her address…. could he?  
Of course not! Her inner voice hissed at her. She nodded in response and tried not to cry.  
She had gotten through this before and she'd get through this again.

To Johns surprise, Sherlock actually attempted to eat something, after they'd inform Lestrade the murderer was the step-son, though.  
It was just tea and toast, but he was eating. In fact, he had been eating, sleeping and, in general, taking better care of himself since he had resurrected.  
At least according to Mrs. Hudson, who was constantly fighting the urge to smother him with relief and her motherly love for him.  
"She was unnerved by something." John couldn't hide he was startled, the man across from him had barely spoken a word since they sat down and he had no ungodly clue who 'she' was at the moment.  
"What?"  
"Molly. I'm not sure if she was afraid, but she was definitely bothered. She had a definite response to that name."  
"What name?" Sherlock had a discernible frustration with John not understanding, but the dark haired man took a breath, reminding himself John had been asleep and explained.  
"Before you woke up, Mike Stamford came in to give Molly a message that was considerably far more complicated than it appeared."  
"What was the message."  
"Liam says Hello."  
"Ok. How do you know that this wasn't just randomly bloke she and Mike both know?"  
"He didn't know him."  
"Ok, well you're going to have to explain the situation a little better for me to able to understand and maybe, hopefully, help you out." A long sigh.  
"Mike came in, greeted us both, asked if we should wake you. I told him to leave you be, than he told Molly he had run into an old friend of hers and was asked to tell her that 'Liam said hello'. She stiffened, dropped her pen and looked away from her work. Her lip quivered and she suppressed a stutter when she thanked Mike for the message."  
"Is that it?"  
"No."  
"No? Well?" He gestured for the other to finish.  
"She… became withholding."  
"Right, ok. Its obvious to me this is probably just some ex boyfriend she had a bad break up and just doesn't want to talk about it."  
"John, she became thoroughly withholding." It was Johns turn to release an exasperated sigh.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well, most people will leave some hint of worry or fear on their face after receiving upsetting news. Which, clearly, to her, this was upsetting, but her expression was…"  
"Was what, Sherlock?" He rubbed his temples and breathed. "For god sakes."  
"So impassive…. and a bit…. It was like she was daring me to inquire further."  
"Ok, Sherlock. Let it go. Molly isn't stupid. If she needed or wanted help, she would have asked for it." He seemed to relax and picked up his toast to take a bite.  
"You're right." The normally obstinate Holmes appeared to actually relent. "If she needed help, she would ask for it.  
When he finished with his tea and toast, both the gentleman paid and went their separate ways, having expressed a desire to rest in their own beds.

Cautiously, Molly let herself in her flat. Though she was adamant on not allowing 'that man' to control her, she had taken a rather arduous and unusual route home as a precaution. So, by the time she made it home, she was barely standing from fatigue and hunger. Toby, like most pets would their owners, offered her a lot of hope. He was ok and didn't seem at all bothered, so it was unlikely anyone was in her flat. After all, even when Sherlock was there, he would either not greet her or not leave her bedroom doorway, where the man would usually be thinking.  
This morning, however, he was just as active as ever. Welcoming her with an obscene amount of affection… he was hungry, too, she was certain. After clearing the house with a baseball bat, kicking open doors and looking under furniture and in every corner of the 4 room domicile, she relaxed enough to feed them both.  
Get it together, Molly. She was mentally kicking herself as she shoveled eggs into her mouth like a starved, feral beast. There's no real reason to worry. Remember, this is about power. You can't give that to him.  
As much as she tried to convince herself of this, she was relieved she was sleeping in the daylight and couldn't bring herself to change or take her shoes off. She passed out on the couch, watching some dreadful nonsense on the television. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Molly awoke hours later, she gently fussed, orienting herself. As she became more conscious, her chest grew tight. Staring at the blacken screen of the tv set, she clutched the quilt that was laying over her. Glancing at the clock, she realized she had slept about twelve hours and it was now ten in the evening. Toby wouldn't have seemed wary to anyone but his owner, so she decided she didn't have much of a choice. She quickly changed her clothes, picking out her big purse, she threw a change of clothing into it and some toiletries. Toby didn't fuss too much when she put him in his cat carrier. Thank goodness she had friends on Baker Street.

—

"Gavin has a case for us!" Sherlock projected himself out of his chair, excitedly.

"You mean, Greg." John corrected him.

"Right, Greg." He hesitated before grabbing his coat. 'Are you coming with?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" The response was an excited hum as he turned up his collar and followed his grey eyes down the stairs.

"What has he told you?"

"Not much, but we'll figure every out once we get to the crime scene." John knew very well that _'we'_ meant _'I'_ in that particular sentence, but was glad to be included in the statement. Like nearly every time they had gone to a crime scene, Sherlock had his own little ways of fidgeting. The way he would glance out the window, twiddle his thumbs as well as John had thought he'd seen on occasion through the mans shoes, his toes. The dark, overwhelming figure next to John in the cab was so obviously child like in both annoying and endearing ways to anyone that legitimately attempted to get to know the man.

In fact, many times, the excitement overwhelmed him so, he would fly out of the cab without paying. John often wondered if this happened when he wasn't around and if any cabbies had had to chase Sherlock onto a crime scene to demand their fare. As they pulled up, unsurprising to John, he only saw the flutter of the Belstaff coat as he took off before the cab had completely stopped.

John paid and followed, noticeably less excited about seeing a dead body than his companion.

"Well, what do we have?" He took long strides up to the D.I., rubbing his hands together.

"This is the third Jane Doe we've found like this in the past five days. All women with either dark blond or light brown hair. Different body types, though." He sighed. "And, umm… they always have something carved into them."

"Thats interesting, but theres obviously something especially intriguing about it."

"Its always a small carving at the bottom of the left buttock." All three men seemed to hesitate as a group.

"Well, shall we go in." Sherlock gestured to the door beyond Lestrade, unable to bare the silence a moment more.

As Greg had promised, there the young woman was. No older than mid-thirties, but probably younger. Stripped of all her clothing, cleaned and dumped in an abandoned building with three small 'x's carved on her buttocks just above her thigh. Clearly done after death. John began talking about the body. She had clearly been drugged and assaulted sexually. There were marks on her wrist and ankles from being restrained. Sherlock stopped him.

"We'll find nothing here. He has some sort of 'safe house' where he takes his victims. Probably used a different car every time."

"Then we should be able to find records of that, somewhere."

"Yes and no. This is a big city, if you don't use your car daily, are you always going to notice its absence if its only gone an hour or two?" John and Greg exchanged looks. That definitely wouldn't have been their first thought, but thats why Sherlock had been called in. "Where are the other bodies?"

"Saint Barts, of course, we wanted you to look at them." Sherlock reached out his hand, the D.I. rolled his eyes and pulled two files out of his jacket.

"Great! Come along, John."

—

The cabby was very frustrated with her. She kept giving him odd directions, in fact, this was the third cabby she'd employed to drive her the 10 minute commute. He'd just have to suffer though, he was getting paid, that should be sufficient. Molly got out about three blocks from the safe haven and hoofed it. Mrs. Hudson was perfectly fine with taking in Toby. She had said that one of her neighbors were setting off some bug bombs and, though it wasn't adjacent to her, she didn't want Toby to get sick. Then, she took an overly complicated route to St. Barts. Because this was how it had to be…. again….

Relieved to be at work, she quickly showered and, lost in thought, realized she was scrubbing her inner thigh very hard and for far too long. So what if he was back, if things got bad she actually had friends now. Close ones. Proper ones. Clever ones.

She would be perfectly fine. As soon as she donned her lab coat, she was Doctor Hooper again, not little skittish Molly. Prepared to cut open any corpse the found its way onto her table. The feeling this brought her was a safe and powerful one. He couldn't and wouldn't control her. No way in hell she would let him do that… not again.

She perked up even more when she saw Sherlock and John waiting for her.

"Hello!" She chirped. "What can I do for you gentlemen this evening?"

"I need to see two Jane Does, Molly."

"Specific Jane Does or….." You never really knew with Sherlock.

"Yes, specific Jane Does."

"Alright, which ones?"

"These ones!" The mans dark curls seemed to dance as he spoke and tossed his head to the side, excitedly passing Molly the files.

Considering she was pulling out dead bodies, her high spirits were easily seen as well. She had a bounce in her step and a smile on her face. No one ever really realize how scared and exposed they feel until they feel safe again.

"I didn't do the autopsies for either of these women."

"Well, you're going to be doing the third. I'll have Jeff see to it."

"Jeff?" Molly racked her brain, trying to find a Jeff that would have that authority.

"He means Greg." John sighed.

"Right. Greg." He waved his friends correction off and turned down to the corpses. "Could you roll them over for me." Molly was motioning to do as he said, but her face was definitely asking a question. "I need to see their buttocks." She paused, raising an eyebrow. "He carves small symbols into their left cheek and I need to see them, please."

The first victim had a heart carved into the muscle and the second had a triangle. Did Molly just fidget? He didn't want her to know he noticed, after all, their relationship had been complicated in the year or so since his return, so it may be in response to him paying so much attention to, and even touching, another girls behind. Dead or not, that could be uncomfortable for her, he acknowledged.

"Thank you, Molly."He snapped off his gloves and smiled at her. "John, if you want you can head home. I don't think I'll be doing much more tonight." John didn't buy that for a second, but knew Sherlock had his reasons for doing things whatever way he saw fit. So, John reluctantly left and Molly began preparing the bodies to be put away. "So, why is Toby at Mrs. Hudsons?"

"Hmmm? Oh, one of the people in my building is setting off a few bug bombs. Just didn't want him to get sick." She smiled, sweetly.

"You're a good liar, Molly Hooper." And he actually did look impressed. Molly met his eyes with a bit of dirty look.

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

"Well, because that lie doesn't also cover why you have taken two showers at work since 'Liam Said Hello'."

"Most people wouldn't notice I showered at work."

"Yes, but I'm not most people, Molly." He stepped toe to toe searching the face that she kept so unreadable. "Why won't you tell me who Liam is?"

"Because thats none of your business."

"You slept on your couch all day."

"Were you in my flat?" If he hadn't been him, he would have missed the flash of hope that quickly flashed through her piercing eyes.

"Someone was in your flat?" Sherlock found he didn't even have to make a conscious effort to make sure his expression looked concerned. It had naturally appeared on his face.

"I have work to do, Sherlock, and so do you."

"I can't help you, Molly, if you don't tell me whats going on."

"I told you nothing was going on."

"But, there obviously is something going on."

"Just stop. Stop right now!" Caught off guard by how loud she had screamed just inches from his face, he stumbled backwards and, though she tried to hide it, she had glassy, tearful eyes. The door swung open and one of Molly's coworkers walked in. When he turned back to the Pathologist, she was surprisingly composed and showed no signs that she had been in such emotional distress.

"Oh, my gosh! Molly!" The blond woman squealed as she ran up to Molly, ignoring Sherlock. "I just had the cutest guy come up to me and ask about you."

"Oh, really, Juliette." They shared a girly giggle, though Molly's was forced.

"Yes. At first I thought he was interested in me but he started asking questions about you."

"Oh, yeah?"

"What was his name, Juliette?" Sherlock interrupted, fairly politely, especially for him.

"Liam." Molly looked happy, still, but she'd swallowed hard.

"Oh, really? What did-uh- you tell him?"

"That if he wanted to ask you out so bad, he'd have to come down here and do it himself." Her golden braid drifted off her shoulder.

"You told him I was down here?"

"Well, he wanted me to come down here with the lame message that he says 'hello' and I told him he should just be a man and come say hi himself."

"Oh, I don't think he will, though." Molly said, more to Sherlock than Juliette.

"Don't say that!" The blond gasped.

"No, its really ok, Juliette. I'm not looking to date right now."

"Oh, right. Tom." Molly nodded.

"You'll bounce back." She finally fully acknowledged Sherlocks presence. "Oh, should I leave?"

"Oh, gosh! Its not like that Juliette! He came to look at dead bodies!" Juliette glanced back at the corpses.

"Oh, my gosh, Molly, how creepy."

"What?"

"Well, they all have different builds, but their faces look a bit like you." The three of them all walked back over to the corpses. "Don't you think?"

"Don't be silly, Juliette." She waved her co-worker away. "Do you mind, though, just have to put them away." Juliette rolled her eyes and left the way she came.

"You did see it, didn't you, Molly." Sherlock sighed. "That they looked like you. This is Liam, isn't it?"

"Now, why would I draw out a murder investigation by withholding such a suspicion?" Molly scoffed. "Especially a serial killer who, likely, isn't done yet."

"I don't know, Molly, because I don't even know who Liam is."

"Thats right, you don't."


	3. Chapter 3

Toby had been staying with Mrs. Hudson for about a week now and Molly continued her new normal routine of not having a routine. Somedays, she'd spend the entire day on the tube. Just taking it back and forth, she'd shown up two hours earlier for work and she minimized the amount of time she spent naked in her own home by changing and showering almost exclusively at work. Molly was largely running on empty. Not feeling comfortable sleeping in her own bed, she would go until she passed out. Sometimes that was on the couch, other times, it was a cupboard she found at work that was largely disused at night.

Today, she was on her third or forth or maybe sixth train. She was staring at the metal walls when a deep voice broke the silence.

"This is tube number five, I believe, what do you think, Doctor Hooper?" Molly made a conscious effort to hide any fear she felt as she looked up and an even greater effort to hide she was relieved it was Sherlock. "You don't have to be to work today."He spoke low and close to her."You've taken five tubes and you even switch carriages. No apparent destination."

"So, whats it to you?"

"Why would anyway do something so strange?"

"I got bored." Sherlock smiled at this, she was a bit annoyed, but she was poking fun.

"You have to admit, this is odd behavior. I'll hand it to you, though, you weren't easy to follow. I lost you several times."

"Good to know."

"You've been doing this a lot. Taking several modes of transportation to get to a destination and never anything that takes you right there. When you get off at your last stop, you always either make sure to blend in with a crowd, or take backstreets and alleys that people unfamiliar with an area might not be willing to take."

"Whats your point?"

"Who's Liam?" Try as she might, there was no way she was going to able to hide her anger as she responded, almost silently, through gritted teeth.

"None of your business."

"Still showering at work?"

"I'm not answering that."

"Alright then,… why won't you tell me who Liam is?"

"Because its none of you business."

"Women are dying, Molly. There were two more found in the past week. You know that, you brought them out. You looked into their deep brown eyes and saw the similar facial features you shared with them. Some more than others, but its clear, you're his type." Molly met his eyes.

"I'm who's type?"

"Liam's"

"If I thought for a second that Liam was the killer, I would tell you."

"Unless you couldn't." She looked away from him. "Don't you trust me?" He sounded a bit hurt.

"Of course, I trust you, Sherlock." He was comforted by the warmth he had managed to bring out in her eyes. It'd been several days since he'd seen her express the affection she clearly still had for him. When the train came to the next stop, all he could manage was a nod and a tight smile before he disembarked.

—

He would take a taxi back to Baker Street later and wouldn't have even left Molly on the train if he hadn't had a text from Lestrade about a new victim.

"John," He approached his friend at the crime scene. "Did you ever get the last of Molly's uni yearbooks?"

"Yes, I dropped them off at Baker Street. Why did you want them?"

"No reason." He wasn't about to tell John he was still looking into Liam.

"Right, ok."

The murderer had made a pattern, a simple one, with the carved symbols. Heart, Triangle, and a triple 'x'. As expected, the fifth victim had a triangle carved into her and had suffered the same abuses the other women had. This one looked a little too much like Molly for Sherlocks taste, he found it bizarre that Lestrade and John hadn't commented on that fact yet. At this point, it should really be more obvious to them. Especially with this victim being the exact same dress size as their favorite pathologist. Really, had they never looked at her? Delicately, he rolled the victim onto her back and was rewarded with a new clue. Partially buried in the dirt and easy to overlook. He'd waited for five victims and for Molly to fess up to something or to find something in her past and he'd come up with very little. Not Liam's full name, picture or even a description. It'd been irritating him no end. Molly had been very private about her personal life online and the whole reason she was trustworthy was because she didn't share much with people at all in the first place. Aside from a little online journal she never took seriously, she hadn't put a lot online at all. The background check he'd run had turned up with nothing, of course; it was Molly.

He reached down with his gloved hand and carefully pulled up a single earring. Holding the jewelry up to light, he could see there was a monogram 'M' on the round ornament that dangled from the stud.

"He left us a little gift." Sherlock smiled, holding up his prize.

"An 'M', well, at least we know her first initial, now."

"No."

"No?" John and Greg inquired in unison.

"It's not hers."

"Ok, than, how is it connected to the killer?"

"Its a message."

"A message?"

"Yes, a warning. He's prepared to keep killing." Sherlock didn't look up at them as he pulled out a plastic evidence bag. "I'll be needing this, Gabe."

"Its Greg."

"Greg." He sighed heavily. "Well, now, if you don't mind." John followed his friend out to the main road and into a taxi.

"So, whats the message?"

"I have some ideas, I'm not completely certain. Its a threat, a warning of some sort for someone."

"Who?"

"The owner of the other earring."

—

Molly stumbled into her flat with an arm full of groceries and immediately traded it for her bat. Clearing each room again, before she could relax and put the shopping away. Under her bed, her cupboard, every corner…. There was no one else there. Her chest still felt tight, but it had loosened a bit.

Standing in her kitchen, she put on a kettle and began to hum to herself to add a little noise to the quite apartment, it would have added too much to turn on the television or radio and would have just added to her anxiety. She had needed to pee for hours and finally felt like she might be able to, but as soon as she stepped into the bathroom, she finally glanced in the mirror and threw her hand over her mouth to muffle her own scream.

On the mirror, in big letters was written 'Hello'.

—

Sherlock could see a few small damp footprints on the steps leading up to 'B' when he first entered 221. He didn't mention this to John Watson because he had a fairly good idea whose footprints they were and, as he entered the flat his assumption was confirmed by the scent of cat litter and a ginger cat having been moved upstairs.

"It appears I have a client." He announced to his friend as he walked back to his bedroom. "Evening, Molly."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm not a client, Sherlock." Molly looked up from the book she was reading in his bed. She was freshly showered and wearing one of Sherlocks thicker housecoats over a camisole and fuzzy blue pajama pants.

"Then, what are you doing here?"

"Do I ever ask you that question when you need my room?" The detective thought a moment.

"What would I find if I went to your flat right now, Molly?" He shook his head. "Anything interesting."

"Like what?"

"Whatever made you want to finally come running here yourself." Molly just blinked. Her expression didn't change as she looked up at him, but she put a bookmark in her book, swung her legs over the side of the bed and began to brush her hair.

"Wait a minute, is this about that Liam guy?"

"Bit late to the party, John. Its obviously about Liam."

"What? How?"

"I'm assuming she believed he had entered her flat on a single occasion about a week ago. For whatever reason, she feared for her cat more than herself, so she told some silly lie to Mrs. Hudson, who took our friend Toby in here." He gestured to the cat rubbing against his legs. "Now, for about a week, she's been spending as little time at home as possible. Riding the tube around with no real destination, just sporadically hopping on and off trains and even walking through to different carriages. Never sitting still too very long. She also has only been showering at work. Sleeping in a broom cupboard on occasion, too. To anyone really paying attention, it would be devastatingly obvious our dear pathologist has a stalker. A murderous stalker at that, killing women all over the city that look the least bit like her and tonight I found one of your earrings underneath a dead body, Molly Hooper, and, I know for a fact you found some sort of threat in your flat earlier today, otherwise you wouldn't be here." His tone was now harsh and demanding, as he held up the bag with earring in it. "So, tell me, Molly, who the hell is Liam?"

"None of your business." She breathed as her eyes filled up with tears.

"Molly, five bodies. Five dead women already and he's not going to stop. So, tell me who he is." She kept her mouth closed and shook her head as tears slowly flowed down her cheek. "Fine, you don't want to let me help you, Molly, than don't tell me, but I'll not harbor someone who doesn't trust me." He grabbed her arm and drug her to the kitchen to a chorus of shouts of his name, but he didn't stop until he got to door. As he went to throw her into the hall, she wedged herself in the door, looked him right in the eyes with her doe-y tear filled ones and jolted him out of his fit with her soft voice.

"Stop! Your hurting me, Sherlock." It didn't take his skills to realize she didn't just mean physically. He released her arm and she collapsed into his, crying uncontrollably.

"Jesus, Sherlock. What the hell was that?" Johns scolding wasn't necessary. He had no words for how he felt. Though, he had to admit he wasn't very communicative with the emotional part of his brain. In this moment, all he could do was hold Molly Hooper to him and ask her forgiveness.

She forgave him. He had scared her more than anything, but he knew if he lost his temper with her again, she'd trot off to the Watson's and he didn't seem to want that.

That night, it was just understood they were sleeping in the same bed. They'd done it before. Most notably when he stayed with her after 'the fall' , but there had been a few times, after she'd moved out of her flat with Tom, she'd wake to find him sleeping on his side of the bed. He never disturbed her, never touched her or did anything inappropriate, just laid there next to her and slept. Never asked for anything, either. He never stayed, always walking out the next morning with no more than a smile and a nod, if that, but she figured he just found being physically close to someone a comfort and it helped him sleep.

That night though, she did something different.

Sherlock laid on the side closest to the door, on his back and she laid facing the opposite wall on her stomach.

She reached behind her and placed her hand in his. When she sniffled, she felt him give a little squeeze and she intertwined their fingers and just cried into her pillow. Instead of pulling away or going limp, he just griped her hand more firmly.

She remembered this and decided she'd do it again sometime… maybe tomorrow night.

—

She was relieved to go to work the next day. Even though they were alright now, there was still tension hanging in the air of 221B. Molly expected that, though. It was a safe place and felt more like home then her flat did currently and all she could do was feel grateful for that. Sherlock would come around, he wasn't stupid and had to know she would never lie to him. After all, he kept secrets all the time, at least she was honest about keeping a secret… he never was.

"Hello, Molly." He swaggered into the cantina, lips pulled tight into a thin smile and light dancing around in his grey eyes. It was annoying to her that he was trying to be so obviously manipulative.

"What do you need, now, Sherlock?" Molly didn't even look up from her book as she responded and brought another bite of food to her mouth.

"We have another victim and I need to see her." She nodded.

"I know, I just finished with her. I'll bring her out when I'm done eating." She held up the last few bites of her sandwich and put a book mark in her book. When he looked down at her, his expression was a bit confused, as if he couldn't wait the 30 seconds or so it'd take her to finish eating. Molly really would never lie about how she relished those momentary looks he'd give her, when she wouldn't let him manipulate her. Why would he expect her to stay so compliant, especially after all they'd been through together? She put her things into her bag and gestured for them to follow her.

"This one is different," she'd already rolled her over. "She isn't marked. But, everything else is the same."

"Copycat?" John offered, but Sherlock wasn't paying attention.

"No," he said, distracted. "He nearly got caught… he panicked… " Like always, he was done in considerably less time than it took for her to haul the bodies out and left with a smile, a "Thank you." and a flutter of his coat.

Glancing down at the body, she sighed and shook her head.

"I know he's a bit rude sometimes, but he's really not that bad." Her text message alert went off as she was putting the body away in the cold chamber and she was in no rush to check it, yet. It'd have to wait until she finished her paperwork. There wasn't much, so she didn't figure it should be that much of a concern, but her phone continued to chirp every couple of minutes. Nearly at the end of her rope, she tore her phone out of her pocket, convinced it was Sherlock who decided he needed something bizarre that he forgot to demand before he ran off.

There were a dozen messages, the first eleven, to her horror, were pictures.

Her sleeping on her couch that night weeks ago, her through the windows of 221B, on the tube, in the morgue and the last two were of Sherlock leaving St. Barts.

When she finally got to the text message, she felt tears burning in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

_**Hello, Molly.**_


	5. Chapter 5

Her heart thumping in her chest, she had pushed through her paperwork. It had taken her a little over an hour. All the picture messages were forwards from a blocked number. After finishing, she called it a half day and clocked out. It was the first time in weeks she went straight anywhere. Then again, there weren't many places she felt absolutely safe anymore.

It didn't faze her that he had pictures of her in the Baker Street flat windows. She knew Mrs. Hudson was home, Mycroft was constantly watching his little brother and Sherlock…. Sherlock just made her feel safe. Without a word to anyone, she ran up the steps to the flat, bounding past Sherlock as he fussed with his violin in the living room and straight to his bed. This was were it felt safe to finally cry.

—

He stood outside his door for a few minutes, listening to her. This really wasn't his area, but he cracked open the door anyway and took a sharp inhale.

"Its ok, Sherlock. You don't have to —"

"I —uh— I'd like to try." She rolled over and looked up, confused. "I know this isn't really— but, I would like to—" She sat up and pulled him to her, crying into his chest and guiding him into the bed. The man was obviously uncertain of himself, but he was clearly trying to make an effort; consciously trying different spots on her back to rest his hands and alternating rubs and pats with them. It was definitely nice to see him make an attempt to comfort her. Without thinking, she kissed him and, to her surprise he kissed her back. Opening his lips at her tongues urging and allowed them to dance, slowly for a few moments.

When he pulled away, he searched her face.

"Did that make you feel better?" Molly laughed.

"Is that the only reason you let me kiss you?"

"Well— I did like it."

"I can tell." She used her eyes to gesture below the blankets, where their bodies met and Sherlock looked away.

"Normal biological reaction to that —ah— sort of stimulus."

"I know." The smile that spread across her face was one filled with self-pride, he still found it difficult to meet her eyes. With a giggle, she laid her head back down on his chest and took a nap.

—

When she got up a little later, Sherlock was already up. Molly took a long hot bath and changed her clothes before slowly, walking out to the kitchen, finding take away on the counter.

"It looks as though you were right." Sherlock was in his chair, poking at his plate. "Just some bizarre coincidence. I'm not certain it is Liam."

"The one today was." He tilted his head and looked at her, squinting his eyes. Bypassing the food, despite the fact that she was hungry, she had no appetite, she took her spot in John's former chair. "It's your business now, Sherlock." Molly opened the pictures on her phone and let him slide through them, as he did, another showed up. Sherlock just cleared his throat.

"Ok, I'm listening." He stuttered and avoided her eyes when he spoke. Seeing the last picture, Molly could only blushed. It was a very old nude photo of her. She should have been expecting that.

"Former boyfriend. Abusive, controlling…. enjoyed taking pictures of me like that… he's attempting to black mail me."

"With what?"

"The pictures." She responded quickly and calmly. "He wants to make my life hell because I got him sent to jail for breaking a restraining order and my arm." Sherlock nodded. "I don't know where he is. He has a lot of friends." He smiled at this and brought out his phone.

"So do I." His eyes widened, flickering with the new light he was allowing in them. "Now, what is his full name. I need a description." She complied, starting with the name.

"He…uh, has dark brown hair, blue eyes and he's about six feet tall with prominent cheek bones." It was her turn to avoid the others eyes and she could feel the heat rise from her chest as she blushed. She felt him stare at her a moment before continuing.

"What does he want?"

"He just enjoys playing with me, Sherlock. Its a game to him, but he threatened both of us today and you should know." She walked over and made a small plate, she may not have an appetite, but she needed something in her stomach. Sitting down at the kitchen table rather hard, Molly didn't watch him or ask him what he was pattering out on his phone but wasn't surprised when he popped up and left.

—

Sherlock was certain he had finally found Liam. It was easy to hide in places people found revolting, not many would follow you into a sewer willingly. He'd have to have his coat cleaned after this. Debating with himself over whether he should have woken John, his long, black metal flashlight fell on a little camp in a dark corner. Unfortunately, it looked as though it may have been abandoned, but it was what he was looking for. Now to poke around.

Mostly just a hiding place, it seemed, there didn't seem to be a lot of personal items. Except for a little sleeping nest, made from linen and paper foraged from the garbage and a bag. The bag confirmed he had, indeed, found what he was looking for. Polaroid pictures of Molly and himself. There was more than one person involved in this operation, it was very clear. It appeared Liam had his own little version of a homeless network. Sherlock tried to not let it bother him that Molly hadn't just asked for help, but seeing just how closely and long Molly had been being followed, some of the photos were from before "Liam said hello" the first time, he had an undeniable knot in his stomach. Why hadn't she wanted to tell him? To just come to him and tell him she was being stalked? And why would she ever dream of standing in the way of catching a serial killer?

A shuffle and muffled noises further up the tunnel brought him out of his trance and away from the photos, a few of them of Molly… not fully clothed. He'd have to remind her to close her blinds when she was getting dressed from now on. Making his way up the tunnel several yards, he found an odd niche, faintly glowing, and could hear whispers more distinctly.

He'd found the "safe house" and, he realized, was about to save the newest victim.

Sherlock threw back the fabric door and brought the flashlight down heavy on the man. He fell off his victim, cursing angrily, and, as he tried to right himself to get back up and fight, he received another smack across the face with the cold metal of the flashlight.

For a brief moment, he could've sworn the woman below him had been Molly. How there could be so many woman in this city that reminded him of Molly recently, he had no idea, but he'd been seeing her face on a lot of women with similar hair to hers. With the man unconscious, the woman, naked and crying, simply laid there, trying to figure out if she was safe or not now and what had just happened to her.

He knelt down.

"Your safe now. I'm calling for help. I'll stay here with you until they arrive." He took off his jacket and wrapped her in it. "I'm going to need this sheet." The woman stood up, accepted the jacket and stepped off the sheet. "I don't have handcuffs with me right now, unfortunately." Sherlock tore the sheet and made long strips that he used to tie the unconscious assaulter up. "May I have your name?" He asked, as Lestrades phone rang. The woman's eyes went wide for a moment.

"No." Was the only thing she said before she ran out of the makeshift hut.

—

Angrily, he slammed the door to his flat.

"What happened?" His current flatmate was watching a movie from the sofa.

"I found your ex with a new victim. She ran off with my coat. I lost her in the tube."

"How long ago?"

"I followed her for an hour."

"She was probably a homeless prostitute and went to her own safe house."

"Yes, with my coat."

"You have lots of coats."

"Yes, and they're all _my_ coats." For a moment, they just made faces at each other. He was legitimately upset about the loss of his coat and Molly couldn't help but laugh.

"Your coat is your first concern?"

"Well, she does need to step forward. I mean, she's the only living victim we know we have."

"But, _with_ your coat."

"Yes, _with_ my coat."

"You're unbelievable." Molly scoffed and Sherlock frowned, turning his attention to the television.

"Thats incredibly impractical. Isn't she cold?" He shook his head. "I'll never understand some of your genders wardrobe choices."

"Says the man who went to Buckingham Palace in a sheet." His response was a smile and a shrug.

"The good news is, it looks like its over now… you can go home if you want."

"Do you mind if I stay a little longer." She didn't look up.

"Of course not, Molly Hooper." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh, good lord, whats that smell!" The detective grumbled.

"Your ex was hiding in the sewers."

"How fitting, he is a bit of a rat."

"I'm taking a bath."

"Good, I don't want to sleep next to that." Molly called after him as he made his way back to the bathroom and she picked up her chirping cell phone.

_**Sleep well, Molly.**_

* * *

_**Hey, everyone! I'm glad you seem to be enjoying this! :-D I was wondering if anyone could tell me more about contests and such for awards, how they work?**_

_**I'm curious as to whether I have to be nominated or if I submit my piece to a committee of some sort or what because I think I'd like this piece to be considered for one.**_

_**On another note, I do intend to have sexy/smut in a few more chapters and this is the halfway point for this piece, it's looking like. I'm trying to keep a chapter ahead. (As in, right now, I'm working on chapter 7, when thats done, I'll post 6 and then start 8.) Anyway, thanks again!**_


	6. Chapter 6

Her heart was in her throat as she opened the enclosed photo message of her and Sherlock taken through the window. Someone was watching right now, directly across the street. Granted, the pictures weren't good, obviously having been taken from that distance and through the window, but it was clear enough to make a point. Molly tried to forget it. She'd tell him in the morning. Right now, they both needed sleep and she wasn't convinced that the person across the street, whoever it was, wouldn't try to do anything tonight. At least not directly to her.

Not willing to let him win, she finished her movie before turning off lights and heading back down the hallway.

"Sherlock," She knocked on the bathroom door and received a groan in response. "I'm headed to bed, do you have something to change into already or…."

"Could you fetch me a shirt and track bottoms? Thank you." Of course he just assumed she'd do it. She honestly didn't mind, it wasn't that hard to collect clothing for him, it was just the fact that he just figured she'd be alright with grab them for him.

In fact, when he had stayed with her, years ago, there were a few times she'd forced him to grab her clothing. On one occasion, she'd had to ask him to get her a fresh pair of knickers. Molly had slipped and fallen into a rather large puddle on a trail. When she walked in, freezing and covered in mud, Sherlock had barely batted an eye.

"Did you manage to hail a taxi?"

"What?"

"A while back, I had tried to hail a taxi in a similar state. Ended up on the tube." He returned to reading his paper. "People stare a lot when you have a harpoon on a train." After a momentary squint, she'd decided to ignore what he'd said.

"I'm getting in the bathroom, I don't want to track all this through my apartment." Thinking back, she remembered she'd begun stripping down and asked him to grab her a plastic bag before running into the bathroom and demanding he grab her clothes. It hadn't even registered with her that she had just gotten naked in front of this man. She'd been so cold, wet and muddy that her primary focus was on getting in a hot shower or bath.

Molly did remember, however, that he had no idea what to grab her to wear. He'd come back with nice clothing, yes, but she wasn't going to lounge around her house in the dress she'd worn to the Christmas party.

"Ok, Sherlock, thats very nice. But, I want pajamas. And underwear." She'd shouted at him from behind the shower curtain… because he was Sherlock and just walked in. He'd nervously hummed for a moment, before responding with an "ok." and trying again. The second time, he had brought her a tshirt and a pair of sweats, like she was bringing him, but, also,a pair of sexy thong underwear that was lacy and see-thru. It'd been buried in her drawer, she knew, because she found the lace a bit itchy, but she didn't tell him this and wore it anyway.

She curiously traced the handle of Sherlock underwear drawer and wondered if there was any possible way of doing something similar to him. Biting her lip and closing her eyes, she pulled the drawer open.

Molly sucked in a breath and opened one eye at a time. Much like her, he had a lot of different types of under wear. Most men only had one type, but Sherlock had a few pairs of boxers and some boxer briefs, most a very soft cotton, but, upon finding a pair of silky, novelty briefs, she made her decision.

Sherlock was going to wear silky duck man panties to bed tonight.

She let him know his clothes were in the hallway and climbed into bed with her book to wait for him. Molly was curious as to whether he would put them on or not and fought through the stress-induced fatigue to find out.

When he came out, another 20 minutes later, she kept focused on her book with a relaxed face. Sherlock had stopped a few steps from the bed and was carefully eyeing her. Finishing the page she was on, she looked up at him and put her book mark in the book as she raised her eyebrows.

"Thank you." His words were cautious.

"No problem." She suppressed the urge to giggle. _**He's wearing the duck pants! **_

Slowly, he crawled into bed next to her and they turned off the light.

Molly audibly gasped when she large arms wrap around her.

"She looked so much like you, Molly." Was all he could muster. In response, she grabbed his hand.

"But, it wasn't, Sherlock. I was back here at 221B, perfectly safe." When he nodded, his nose nudged the nape of her neck.

"I just…. don't know what I would do if it were you."

"Sherlock, I'm right here. I'm perfectly fine. I'm with you. I'm safe and happy and…"

"You're happy?"

"Yes. Being here with you makes me happy, Sherlock."

"So…_ I_ make you happy?"

"Yes." He responded with a kiss where his nose had been and held her a little tighter. "Sherlock…"

"Hmmm…." She was going to say something that'd she'd thought about saying for years, but instead, she just sunk back in to him and brought one of his hands to her lips for a kiss.

"Where did you get them?"

"Get what?"

"The duck underpants?"

"Oh, they were a sort of gag gift from Mycroft. His idea of a joke."

"Oh….ok…." Obviously, he wasn't going to explain further, so she tried again. "Sherlock…"

"Yes."

"….me, too." Was all she could muster as she squeezed his hand and they laid there in silence until they fell asleep.

—

The next morning, he was gone. She wondered if there had been another victim. Of course, maybe he found the woman from yesterday and was interviewing her…. and retrieving his coat. Molly rolled her eyes at this thought. At least the fact that he had expensive taste justified how possessive he could be over some of his material things. She glided into the kitchen to feed Toby and began debating over what to make herself. Settling on beans, bacon and toast, she went to check her cell phone.

It was gone.

Not in the living room, or on the bedside table or even underneath the bed.

Her phone was gone.

She suddenly felt naked and vulnerable and it sent a chill up her spine. Molly exhaled slowly and returned to the kitchen, reminding herself she was safe here.

_**I just need some noise,**_ she decided, and put a movie on she'd seen a million times.

Toby curled up her lap as she ate on the couch; completely distracted by the fact that her phone was gone and wondering who exactly took it.

_**Probably Sherlock. No one else would dare attempt to break into this flat. **_She recalled the (actually true) rumor about him throwing an American agent of some sort out of a window several times and smiled. Between his reputation, the paparazzi and his brothers monitoring, 221 Baker Street was under plenty of surveillance.

Molly hated what this man was doing this to her nerves. She did nothing to warrant this loss of security, she thought, as she angrily scrubbed at a plate. The irritation didn't leave her body as she dried and put it away, either. As she began to walk back into the living room, she heard a creak from the stairway and turned to meet his eyes.

"Hello, Molly." He was grinning from ear to ear.

—

Sherlock angrily fussed with the phone.

"She's still hiding things from me and this isn't helping." He shouted at John as he threw it on to the table.

"But, I'm sure she'll really appreciate you breaking her mobile." He brought the mug of coffee to his mouth as Greg Lestrade came back into his office and closed the door.

"Well." Sherlock had retrieved the phone and was fiddling with it in an anxious manner.

"He's our rapist."

"Obviously."

"But, not our killer." The D.I. cut him off. "Turns out he has a partner. His partner wanted to kill, but is kind enough to let his mate rape the victims first. Said he didn't think anything of hearing another person down there because he was expecting his friend. Thought you were just him."

"What was his partners name?" John asked, returning to his coffee.

"He's not planning on telling us that. Spat in Donovans face, told her he liked her skirt and asked about her knickers." He shook his head. "Had to pull her out of there."

"Real charmer." The doctor offered.

"Yeah, I considered letting Donovan have a go. You know, Sally broke her ex-husbands nose? They'd been married a month and he punched her, so she punched him back."

"Good for her." John nodded as he stood up. "Well, Sherlock, we going to talk to him?" But, he was lost in thought and it took a moment for him to hum a response. "Sherlock, do you want to interview him or not?"

"Oh, no, we won't find our killer through him. He's useless and ignorant, anyway." He waved off the question and left the office, an annoyed John Watson at his heels.

"So, what _are_ we doing?"

"Stopping off at Baker Street." He had reached almost a running pace once they got to the stairs. "Molly will be needing her phone." Sherlock's voice echoed through the stairwell as he shouted up to his friend, who could only curse and follow his headstrong companion.


	7. Chapter 7

"Was that Maddy last night?" Molly crossed her arms as she met Liam's eyes.

"What? That your little friend interrupted us gifting to you?" He was clean, though not clean shaven. His dark whiskers shadowed his chin and cheeks. Liam had forced his brother to stay in the sewers while he stayed somewhere more palatable to him.

"Yes. Was it her?" He scoffed.

"I was going to sell her when I came back, but she was more useful in this sense."

"We're human beings, no merchandise." Her eyes were narrow as she stepped towards him.

"No, you owe me a debt." As he stepped into the light, his age was revealed. Slight wrinkles across his face and steady, blue eyes that looked fierce, but downright exhausted, he could easily be twenty years her senior, but he was only ten.

"No, you gave me a gift." Molly planted herself, toe-to-toe, with him, never wavering. "Where's the safe house now? Still your parents old place?" He only smiled at this.

"You need to come with me."

"Or what?" She challenged him. His response was nonverbal, she felt the cold blade rub against her stomach, under her shirt as he licked his lips. It took all of her not to react but she knew she was only going to get out alive if she stayed calm. "I am not yours." Molly reared back and spat in his face, taking the moments he took to wipe it away and recover from the slight sting in his eye to run towards the other exit. Blindly, he grabbed her pony tail and pressed the blade against her neck. He wiped her around like a rag doll, having recovered his vision, and bent her over the kitchen table. While he fumbled with their trousers, she channeled all her strength into her elbow. Molly grabbed the wrist that held the knife and used the other to elbow him in the stomach. He dropped the knife as he fell back and that was his biggest mistake.

—

When they had encountered the detour on the way back to Baker Street, Sherlock couldn't suppress a long, loud annoyed sigh.

"I don't understand why you took her phone in the first place." John Watson turned to his annoyed friend in the back of the cab.

"Because, she was keeping things from me. She knows things, more than she told me." Sherlock was still thumbing at the phone and occasionally glancing out the window.

"Well, maybe she's not ready to talk about it."

"Women are dying all over the city and he's stalking her. She's withholding information because she obviously fears for her life, otherwise, she could volunteer the information. No, she's only giving me enough information to work with because she wants my help, but she doesn't want to rock the boat, upset him; raise the alarm with him too much."

"So, what is on that phone?" Reluctantly, Sherlock handed John the phone and returned to looking out the window. "Yeah, I don't know the passcode."

"Its 1803, her fathers birthday or something or other." He waved off his friends question. "She kept all the pictures. All of them. He's been mocking her a lot today, sending her a lot of—" he turned to see John staring, mouth open, at one of the ten year old nudies of Molly. "—well, that…. close your mouth, its Molly for god sakes." The doctor blinked, cleared his throat and swiped through to the next photo.

"He's been following you, too?"

"Yes, but I'm fairly use to being surveyed, so I'm not exactly sure who he is using to watching me." This obviously bothered him greatly.

"What kind of man is this?"

"A man with a lot of friends or just people willing to work for him. Could be a lot of things."

"What, like you and your homeless network?"

"Yes, like me and my —" He fell into one of his trances. Something had clicked with him. All the little things Molly seemed to have known played back to him in his mind palace.

_"The one today was."_

_ "He's attempting to black mail me…. with pictures."_

_ "He has a lot of friends."_

_ "He just enjoys playing with me"_

_ "She was probably a homeless prostitute and went to her own safe house."_

_ "I'm safe and happy"_

"Can't this thing go any faster?" He was suddenly in an annoyed panic.

_"I'm safe and happy"_

John was urging him to calm down, he was throwing a fit in the back of a cab like he would do when he was too long without a case or a cigarette.

_ "The one today was."_

Suddenly, he couldn't breath, for a moment. Sherlock stopped fussing and a put an arm on John shoulder.

_ "She was probably a homeless prostitute and went to her own safe house."_

"I'm not sure we're going to make it in time, John."

_"He just enjoys playing with me"_

"What? What are you talking about?"

_ "He has a lot of friends."_

"I think I made a big mistake leaving this morning."

_"He just enjoys playing with me"_

"You think he broke in while we were away?"

_"He just enjoys playing with me"_

Sherlock forced a nod.

_ "I'm safe and happy"_

_ "….I was back here at 221B, perfectly safe." _

His mind was going at break neck speed as he tried to focus, but he just kept replaying her words.

_ "Sherlock, I'm right here. I'm perfectly fine. I'm with you. I'm safe and happy and…"_

_ "You're happy?"_

_ "Yes. Being here with you makes me happy, Sherlock."_

_ "So… I make you happy?"_

_ "Yes."_

He wasn't sure if he had been breathing the last few minutes of the trip, because he couldn't recall exhaling before they pulled up to 221B.

_"Sherlock… me, too."_

—

Since John had paid the driver, he was more than a few steps behind but when he did finally come to first landing on the stairs up to Sherlocks flat, he found his friend in an slightly uncharacteristic state of shock. He took the last flight slower and, making it to the door, surveyed the kitchen and saw why the detective had taken pause.

"I'll phone Greg." He nearly whispered. "See if… uh… you can find Molly."

"J-John." The man finally noticed the other had some fabric in his hands and they appeared to be women's underwear. "These are hers."

"Do you want me to look then?" Sherlock shook his head no and he carefully stepped into the kitchen.

The table was overturned, his fridge was wide open; a few of its ghastly contents were scattered about. Blood was everywhere. In droplets, in handprints, in smears. There had been a brutally fight to the death here.

Relief flushed through him and when he found a male corpse on the other side of the table, hidden from view at the doorway. He was so relieved, in fact, he had to laugh.

"What?" John finally joined him in the crime scene.

"Isn't she surprising?" He said without thinking and continued on to check the bathroom and bedroom, leaving John alone with a corpse and his confusion. Of course, Sherlock would admire a woman who could kill an attacker nearly twice her size. But, he had never really seemed taken with anyone but 'The Woman'… this made him incredibly uncomfortable.

—

He had to laugh again when he found her. She had been attacked, killed the man, took a shower and went to bed. Honestly, probably in a state of shock at what she had done. Gently, he roused her. Molly was going to need to talk to Lestrade, self defense or not she had killed a man and would have to give the D.I. her story. Her doe-y brown eyes met his grey ones.

"I'm hungry." She yawned.

"Well, Doctor Hooper, seeing as my kitchen is a crime scene, I don't see a meal being prepared there in the near future."

"What?"

"Molly Hooper, you killed a man in my kitchen. Made quite a mess of it, too."

"Oh, sorry."

"You're completely insane, you know that?"

"I just saved a lot of people."

"You didn't even try to clean up the crime scene?"

"Well,…. I was waiting for your help." She sat up, her arm was bandaged. "And I couldn't exactly ask for it, could I? Someone took my phone."

"Sorry." He pulled it out of his coat.

"Thank you." As she swiped it out of his hand and was turning down to glance at the screen, her view became blocked and she felt the soft pressure of his lips against hers. Dropping her phone, she grabbed his collar and leaned in, guiding him to lay on the bed and she straddled him. All the while still kissing him firmly. His hold on her tightened, she winced from the pain and he pulled away.

"I'm so glad you're ok." Molly was going to continue but they were interrupted by a loud shout down the hall.

"Is Molly back there?" She climbed off of him as she called back and affirmative and opened the door for the D.I.


	8. Chapter 8

_**THIS CHAPTER IS SHORTER THAN THE OTHERS, BUT IT IS THE REASON THIS WHOLE PIECE IS RATED MATURE. ENJOY THE SWEET, SWEET, SHERLOLLY SMUT!**_

—

"Ah, yes. Terribly sorry to bother you, Gabe." Sherlock frantically typed out a text on his mobile. "We honestly just need you to clean up. Mycroft will take care of the rest."

"Its Greg! Sherlock, theres a body in your kitchen." The D.I. demanded.

"Yes, that Molly, here, killed in self defense."

"Molly?"

"Yes."

"He tried to rape me, again, at knife point." Both the men looked at her, but only Greg looked shocked, Sherlock looked a bit sick.

"Did you report the assault?" He asked her.

"Yes, I reported them. It helped me get a restraining order against him and sent him to jail for several years." When no one else spoke, Sherlock chimed in.

"He's our killer, Greg."

"What? What the hell is going on?"

"He's an ex boyfriend. He got released from prison almost a year ago and started stalking me about a month ago."

"Why didn't you report this?"

"She did…. to me."

"But, you're not the proper authorities, Sherlock. She could be in real trouble."

"Mycroft is taking care of it." His phones text alert went off, as if on cue, and he turned his attention to it with a smile. "I really just need you to clean it up right now. Mycroft will let you know what to do with the paper work. Molly won't have to trouble herself with any other authorities or the court system and you get your killer off the streets. Really, Gavin, she's made your job easy."

"Greg!"

"Greg." He stopped typing to make eye contact as he corrected, but quickly returned to frantically typing out a message and the irritated D.I. left, slamming the door behind him. 'Are you alright, Molly?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, you killed someone."

"Well, I've done it before." She followed the D.I. out, but turned into the bathroom.

"What?" Sherlock stood frozen in the middle of his room for a several minutes as he processed what Molly had just told him.

—

Molly wasn't sure when or how she'd coaxed Sherlock into moving the chairs back and sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with her, but she was very very pleased with herself. His muscles had stiffened when she leaned into him, but he had wrapped his arm around her and was very responsive when she reached back and kissed him.

When she had finally straddled him, he gripped her tight. Slowly, she lowered him to the floor and began working on his shirt and kissing her way down his chest.

"Molly…." He stopped her and their eyes met. Not knowing his level of experience, but realizing, at the very least, he'd been celibate for a very long time, she took his hand.

"Do you want to stop?" Sherlock took a rather long time with this thought and she was beginning to get up when he gripped her hand and finally struggled out the single syllable.

"No." Molly smiled and continued working her way down his chest and removing his shirt and jacket. Pulling down the zipper at a teasing pace, she rubbed his prick through his trousers and he squirmed a bit. Before taking them off or even bringing them down for access, she mouthed and sucked at it through the fabric. Relishing his gentle jerks, suppressed moans and hums of pleasure, when she decided to remove them, she did it fast and leaned over him for a deep kiss. He tore at her clothing until they were both naked and fighting for the air between them.

With her hands, she set them even, so he could fell the warm and damp of her depths so close and just out of reach.

"Do you want this, Sherlock?" He had curled into her and moaned an affirmative into her shoulder, she pulled back and put them nose to nose and ran a finger along his shaft. "What do you need?" He leaned backed and let out a frustrated moan.

"Molly."

"I want to hear you say it, Sherlock. What do you need?" Struggling a bit at against her gentle, rhythmic strumming, he relented, grabbing her face and looking her straight in the eyes.

"You." And with that, she granted him entrance, sheathing him within her as they kissed.

Despite the intimate act they were engaged in, as Molly began to set the pace, she began to realize she was on her own in this task.

"Sherlock?"

"Molly, who did you kill?" _**He's asking this now? **_She thought, and let out a giggle, still dedicated to the grinding and bouncing motions of their love making.

"Just some men I slept with." She whispered in his ear and he pulled back in alarm, to search her face. Still connected, the motions had stopped now and she giggled again. "God, Sherlock, I'm joking. Besides, Tom and Jim are still alive." Another panicked look. "No need to worry, I didn't _really_ sleep with Jim and you're bigger than Tom." Her attempt at comforting him with humor seemed to leave him even more confused.

"I'm sorry, I was just distracted."

"Sherlock," Molly planted kisses on his clavicle and reached between them to foddle his testicles. "I will make a deal with you, stay here with me now, and I'll tell you everything when we're done. Does that work for you?" His gentle fussing and facial expressions spoke his affirmative before him did. "Good, now, where were we?" Returning back to motions she ran her hand back up his body to take his hand and guide it to her clit. He didn't miss a beat, getting the message quickly, but with his other arm, he gently cradled her head, before she could loose herself.

"No, Molly, look at me." It was, somehow, a request as much as a demand and she was more than happy to oblige. Searching her memory, she couldn't think of a more intense sexual experience than this. The act of making love with Sherlock Holmes was both everything she expected it be and nothing she could have imagined. He was studying her face, he wanted to know he was doing well and for her to know that it was him, the entire time. "No." He strained to say as she was drifting back in ecstasy, coming to her climax, and they tilted her head back up and forced her eyes back open. The passion brought them to their apex nearly simultaneously and they collapsed onto the floor together. Sweaty, exhausted, out of breath and clinging to each other for dear life.

"Now. Molly. The story. All of it." He said between gasps. Molly couldn't help but laugh.

"I. Didn't lie. Sherlock. I. Am. Going. To. Tell. You. But. First. Shower." Fumbling for her clothes, she drug herself to her feet. "Coming?"

"I just did." Before exiting with another laugh, she kicked at the blissed out detectives ankle.

* * *

Only two more chapters! :-D


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock eyed her the entire time. She could tell he was itching to hear her story and was fighting to maintain his patience as she prepared her tea. Once she had finally settled in John old chair, tea cup to her lips, he leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his outstretched fingers.

"Well…." Sherlock spoke as soon as she pulled the mug away from her mouth, before she even set it down.

"My father was widowed when I was little and he raised us on his own, with help from his sister, but we were never well off. When I got to uni, I didn't have time for a normal job, so I worked as a prostitute." Sherlock froze at this revelation and nervously adjusted in his chair before urging her to go on. "I met Liam at a club, I was actually looking for clients, passing out a card…. I really wasn't well versed in marketing myself, but I was doing what I knew. I didn't give him a card because I was interested in him. We dated a while. About a month in, I told him what I was doing. He was mad. Not because I was prostituting, but because he wasn't profiting from it. He said when we decided to be together, I became his. I found out he knew I was a prostitute, because I hadn't learned how to be discrete enough, and he was actually… Liam is involved in human trafficking. He beat me. I serviced a few clients for him, but I ended up getting away from him. Which lead to the first time he stalked me. I had to quit working and find something else. It was hard, very hard. He ruined my life. He raped me several times and even broke my arm in the process once. The last time I saw him, before he went to trial and to prison, he had these two men kidnap me… they were who I killed. He was going to send me off to god knows where. Prague? Moscow? Bangkok? I'm not sure of his plan, but he was going to sell me." She took a breath and another sip of tea. "I honestly didn't want to believe it was him, but when he killed Lynn." Molly took a second to compose herself. "I thought the triangles, x's and hearts were just a sick coincidence… they're love symbols and those women were his sick love notes to me…. and Lynn was my friend… the unmarked victim. A homeless prostitute. I took her food sometimes, I've let her use my shower when she hasn't been able to use one in a hotel for too long and things like that…. that girl you saved was my cousin.. thank you for that."

"Thats why she looked so very much like you." Molly nodded.

"We were raised like siblings, her, my brother and me."

"How'd she end up…"

"My aunt killed herself after my dad died… she didn't know what else to do, so she followed me but she fell down the rabbit hole and couldn't or wouldn't get out… got addicted to drugs and such. Haven't seen her in ages. Her name is Madeline." There was a very long pause before either of them spoke again. "Do you want your coat back?"

"You know where she is?"

"I think so."

—

She made the cab stop about a block and a half away from the safe house and they walked, saying nothing, until it came into view and Molly had stopped to stare.

"That window." She pointed to the top floor. "That was the room he had me in when he was trying to keep me…" Molly licked her lips. "I had to jump out of it, in the end, to get away. He didn't suspect I'd do anything like that."

"Conspicuous escape route for him to give you access to. Idiot." Finally turning to meet his eyes, she spoke very matter-of-factly.

"He's was a misogynistic, hateful piece of shit that tried to sell me into sexual slavery."

"Right." A small feminine voice called Molly's name from the doorway.

"What are you doing here? If they see you…."

"I'm here to see Maddy, Dot. It'll be fine." Unconsciously, she reached over and grabbed Sherlocks hand and the frail blond ushered them into the house.

"You!" Another woman's voice called and thundering footsteps came towards them, for such a petite woman, Maddie could sure throw her weight around; stomping and shaking the floor beneath them.

"Maddy, I just came back for my friends coat." Molly explained, calmly and squeezed Sherlocks hand.

"He obviously has more." She noted he was wearing a nearly identical coat to the one she had.

"Maddy, if you need a jacket," the pathologist took off hers. "Take this one. I'll trade you. This one is more form fitting anyway." The woman hesitated for a moment, but walked away and returned with Sherlocks coat. Insisting on the trade, she wouldn't hand it over until she had Molly's first.

"You ruin everything you know."

"No,I don't. You just don't want help. And thats fine. It's your business now."

This struck a fierce cord with her cousin and the more volatile of the two clawed at the other. Sherlock reached out to grab Maddie's hand, but found Molly was much faster than he in this instance. The other woman was already lying on the floor, beneath one of Molly's shoes. "NEVER EVER hit me." Was all she said, before releasing the woman and walking out of the house with Sherlock.

"You were attacked a lot." He almost whispered when the house was out of site. "When you were… a working girl."

"A few times… I also took a martial art all the way through school and took more self defense after I was… victimized the first time."

"I had no idea."

"Well, now you do." They hadn't been looking at each other the entire walk, but at this point, Sherlock draped his extra coat over Molly's shoulders and put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her back to the main road where they could hail a cab.

—

"So, Molly is still staying here." John asked from his chair in 221B.

"Yes." The doctor smiled behind the newspaper he was reading.

"Whats…uh…. going on between you two, anyway?" Sherlock shrugged and hid in his magazine on the couch. "Are you two….?"

"Are we what, John?"

"I dunno… together?" The detective shifted uncomfortably.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Are you dating?"

"No."

"Well, she lives here… are you shagging?" When the detective gave no answer, John's face became serious. "No."

"No, what John?"

"No, what? Look this is Molly, Sherlock. Molly. You can't use her like you used Janine. Its not right."

"Who said I was using her?" He lazily thumbed through the pages, not really reading anything.

"Well, you have a long history of using people in general, but especially Molly." John sighed and finally completely set his paper down. "So, what kind of case is it this time? huh?"

"There is no case."

"So, you shagging Molly is nothing like you shagging Janine?"

"No, its not."

"How is it not, Sherlock?"

"Well, I was never really… intimate with Janine." Silence again.

"Seriously?"

"No, I never did anything like that with her… she did try though."

"You took a bath and slept in the same bed with her."

"I never took a bath with Molly before we became… intimate… but she… was there for me when you couldn't be after I…uh…faked my death and we did share the same bed several times before anything escalated."

"So… you and Molly are… together." Sherlock sat up and placed his magazine on the table.

"I don't know what we are, John. I'm not sure I even understand it just yet."

While his friend did scoff a bit, he did nod and give him an understanding smile before dropping the subject completely.


End file.
